Won't You Just Tell me Who I Am?
by Legolas.I.am
Summary: It's been eight months since Bucky left Steve laying on that beach. How will he react when he comes home one night to find his door ajar and a familiar face waiting for him in his living room? Steve x Bucky
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** It's been eight months since Bucky left Steve laying on the beach. How will he react when he comes home one night with his door ajar and a familiar face waiting for him in his living room?

**Warning:** This is a Steve x Bucky fic. Don't like, don't read.

**(Author's Note): **I wrote this for a friend last year after we went and saw The Winter Soldier. Thanks, Morgan, for encouraging me to write this and thank you being my friend even when it probably would've been easier not to be! I love you, you beautiful ginger creature!

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><p>Steve had trouble sleeping after that day. He spent his nights lying in bed staring at his ceiling before inevitably getting up and walking along the pavement below until the sun came up, and on the occasions where he did sleep, he was plagued by nightmares, mostly of Bucky.<p>

The nightmares were, if nothing else, consistent; if they weren't of Bucky's fall, they were of Bucky's retreating back as Steve lay paralyzed on the sand. Steve hated them both equally, each left him forcing his way to consciousness, only to find himself sitting up in his too soft bed with cold sweat and what Steve suspected were tears coating his sunken face.

This night was particularly unpleasant. Steve was freshly awake, chest still heaving and heart still racing from the nightmare he had just fought his way out of. Once his breathing returned to normal, he looked over at the small digital clock on the nightstand and was disappointed to find that it was only half past ten.

Knowing full well that returning to sleep would be either unpleasant or impossible, Steve swung his legs over the side of his bed with a sigh.

A few minutes later, he was stepping off his apartment building elevator and heading out the door to the pavement he had walked nearly every night the past few months.

Without his knowledge, that pavement had become his only friend, his only companion in a world he didn't belong in or understand. Ever since he had woken up to S.H.I.E.L.D. agents hoisting him to his feet on the beach Bucky had left him on, Steve had been slowly closing himself away. Every month that passed, every rumor he followed that left him at a dead-end, every night he spent with only his nightmares for company, Steve unknowingly sunk deeper and deeper into himself.

Now, after nearly eight months of nothing but empty rumors and sleepless nights, Steve had found himself buried in some dark place in his mind, where he closed the door and threw away the key.

That is where Steve lived now, curled in on himself in some dark corner, where no one could reach him.

Almost no one.

Only one person had the spare key, but he was far away, and had made his intentions clear when he had left Steve on the beach that day.

This fact, much to the displeasure of those who had grown to enjoy the company of the soldier, seemed irrefutable and no amount of prying proved to change it. Consequently, as the months drug on and Steve became more detached by the day, they pried less and less.

So, eight months into this progression of seclusion, Steve walked along the relatively barren streets, going nowhere, and trying his hardest to think about nothing.

Steve, though ordinarily rather habitual, had not adopted any set path during his nearly nightly walks, instead electing to wander mindlessly until he felt less suffocated or he found himself in front of his building once more, whichever came first.

This night, Steve returned feeling no better than when he had left nearly two hours before, but, as the unspoken rule demanded, he stopped walking and began making his way back up to his small apartment.

When the elevator deposited Steve back onto his floor, he resented it. He hated that elevator, he hated that floor, he hated the apartment building, and his hated his apartment. He hated living so close to so many people, he hated the sounds of the city that poured incessantly from the streets outside, and he hated how alone he felt.

He was considering breaking his own rules and getting back on the elevator so he could continue walking, which seemed more favorable to the alternative option of lying awake in bed until the sun came up and it was more appropriate to move about.

He was considering it, until he saw that his door was ajar.

His blood ran cold and he tried not to think about the last time someone had broken into that apartment, mostly because he seriously doubted that it would be Fury that he found waiting for him on the other side of the door.

Moving as quietly as possible, he eased his way into the apartment and, once inside, pressed his back against the hallway wall.

As he made his way from room to room, Steve's mind was busy running through possible scenarios: who it could have been, what they wanted, if they were still there, and what would he do if they were.

Eventually, Steve had checked every room in the small apartment, and, finding no one, began to wonder if he had just forgotten to close the door fully behind him when he had left earlier.

"Hey there, Captain."

That voice.

At the sound of that voice, Steve's heart stopped. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think. All he could do was slowly, very slowly, turn towards the source of the voice he had been waiting eight months to hear.

There he was, dark hair falling messily into his face, his eyes sunken, his jaw set.

He was not the man Steve had known, not in appearances anyway. The man he had known had always spent inordinate amounts of time every morning slicking his hair back just right and his eyes had always been bright and smiling even when he himself was not. He had always, to Steve at least, seemed to have a supreme sense of self-awareness, like he was always very certain of where and who he was, where he was going, and who he was going to be.

This man, however, this man was lost. This man had no idea who he was or what the future would hold. Hell, he didn't even know what the past had _already_ held for him.

Despite all that, though, despite how different the man before him seemed, Steve could not help but to believe that, inside, he was still the same.

"What are you doing here, Bucky?" Steve asked, unsure whether or not he should prepare himself for a fight or a talk, knowing that either one would probably hurt the same.

"Why do you think?" Bucky answered, sending a chill up Steve's spine.

"Here to finish your mission?" Steve asked, bringing up his arms in preparation of an attack.

Bucky didn't answer for a while, instead choosing to look inquisitively around the room, before eventually returning his gaze back to Steve, "I guess."

Dread crept into Steve's stomach, his mind racing; was this what he had been waiting for during those eight agonizing months? Was this where it ended, with one of them dead on the floor? Had it all been for nothing?

"But," Bucky added, his voice reluctant, "this might not be the mission you're thinking of."

"What other mission could this be?" Steve cursed the break in his voice as he willed himself not to let hope of good news enter his mind.

Again, Bucky was quiet for a while, his mouth visibly working over the words he was trying to say. Confusion replaced dread as Steve watched his old friend's eyes move down to the floor and his weight shift from foot to foot.

"Will you… Could you just… tell me who the hell I am?"

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><p><strong>R&amp;R<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary:** It's been eight months since Bucky left Steve laying on the beach. How will he react when he comes home one night with his door ajar and a familiar face waiting for him in his living room?

**Warning:** This is a Steve x Bucky fic. Don't like, don't read.

**(Author's Note): **I wrote this for a friend last year after we went and saw The Winter Soldier. Thanks, Morgan, for encouraging me to write this and thank you being my friend even when it probably would've been easier not to be! I love you, you beautiful ginger creature!

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><p>It took a while, perhaps a few seconds or perhaps a few minutes, for Steve to register the question. Even when he finally grasped exactly what it was that the man before him has just asked, the words caught in his throat.<p>

Steve could not, for the life of him, think of anything to say. In all the time that he had spent thinking of nothing but the friend he had thought he had lost, he had never considered that this was how their second reunion would occur. He had expected Bucky to crash into him one day, his eyes cold and foreign, with the intent of finishing his mission. He had expected Bucky to appear from the shadows only to disappear again. He had expected never to see his old friend ever again.

But he had never once considered that Bucky would approach him diplomatically, armed with questions, not threats, and uncertainty in his eyes instead of the detached hostility he had seen before.

Steve didn't know how long he stared silently at the man standing sheepishly in his living room, but eventually he found himself able to unstick his jaw and say the words he had wanted so desperately to tell him that day.

"Your name is James Barnes, but everyone that knows you calls you Bucky. You were born in Shelbyville, Indiana in 1925-"

"I know all that," Bucky interrupted, his gaze never leaving the floor, "I went to the museum. I read the whole passage telling me who I am, I read it over and over again until I could recite by heart. I don't need you to tell me that… I need you… I need you to tell me _who I am_, as a person, as a goddamn human being."

"You… you are my best friend," Steve choked out, wanting desperately for Bucky to lift his head so he could look into his eyes, "I have known you since we were children, and I watched you grow into the loyal, kind-hearted, and courageous man I know you are. Bucky, I know you better than any other ever did and ever could, but I do not know the man I saw eight months ago, I do not know this man you have become. The Bucky I knew… the Bucky I know… has none of the hate and anger and pain in his heart that I saw in you that day. I do not know what happened to you back then, I do not know what happened to you in the seventy years I lost in that ice, but whatever it was they did to you we can work through it together. Please, Bucky, show me that the friend I grieved for is still there somewhere… Show me that you can remember."

"I want to remember," Bucky confessed quietly, "and sometimes I can… sometimes I feel like I can remember… but it's just… I _know_ that I know you… but no matter how hard I try I cannot remember you. I don't know what happened back then, all I know is that I woke up one day with this goddamn arm and a crowd of people in those goddamn lab coats staring at me like a piece of meat. Since that day, I followed the orders I was given, I gave no thought to what was before because there was no before to think about… until I saw you… until I saw you, all I knew what this goddamn arm and the goddamn lab coats and the goddamn orders, nothing else. But that day, when I saw you, things started coming back. I started remembering, I started wondering about my arm and questioning the lab coats and the orders. Seeing you opened a door, and I can't… I don't want to close it ever again."

"Do you think," Steve asked, his voice wavering and unsteady, "do you think we could ever get back to… how it was? Maybe not exactly, but… something close?"

"If I didn't, do you really think I would've come back?" Bucky asked, a shadow of a smile visible on his lips that melted slowly, replaced by a thoughtful, solemn frown, "I want to fix this. I want this… this not knowing… to end. I don't sleep, and when I do, my dreams are the worst I've ever had. Images of the life I guess I lived fold in on each other... I see things I forgot happened... Like a door unlocking in my mind... Torture... Slaughter... And training others in their use... So much horror... I remember falling… I remember hearing you call out my name… I wake up vomiting and don't feel much better afterwards. My nightmares linger...but I wouldn't expect anything else. Dreams are all I have, it's the only time I get to actually remember the life from before, but… when I'm with you, near you, everything seems clearer… the pieces start to fall into place and… I think that, with time, the picture might finally be whole again."

"Bucky…" Steve tried to say, but ended up whispering the name instead, "if time is what you need, whether it is time spent in my company or time requiring my absence, time is what I will give you."

"I have spent… a lifetime with your absence… so… if you are willing… I would much prefer to live the remainder of it in your company," Bucky said in a quiet, uncertain voice.

"I already lost you once," Steve smiled sadly, stepping forward and placing a hand on Bucky's shoulder, "I never want to feel that pain again. I never want to lose you again," Steve's breath caught as he was suddenly pulled into a hug against a warm, familiar chest he never thought he would feel again, "just remember… I'm with you till the end of the line."

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><p><strong>R&amp;R<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary:** It's been eight months since Bucky left Steve laying on the beach. How will he react when he comes home one night with his door ajar and a familiar face waiting for him in his living room?

**Warning:** This is a Steve x Bucky fic. Don't like, don't read.

**(Author's Note): **I wrote this for a friend last year after we went and saw The Winter Soldier. Thanks, Morgan, for encouraging me to write this and thank you being my friend even when it probably would've been easier not to be! I love you, you beautiful ginger creature!

* * *

><p>After that, not much more was said, not much more needed to be said, at least for that night. So, in a comfortable silence, Steve offered Bucky the bed, refusing to accept any answer other than yes, and situated himself on his couch for the night.<p>

Somehow, Steve knew that if he went to sleep at that moment that no nightmares would come to him, that he would drift comfortably into the darkness of sleep and wake up comfortably in the morning. But, as luck would have it, Steve could not sleep.

His mind was much too busy for sleep, racing with memories of the talk he had had not half an hour prior. But, more than that, his mind was stuck on one question, a question that was eating away at every inch of the soldier: do I tell him?

This question, this one burden of a question, stemmed from the one thing Steve was not eager to add to Bucky's knowledge of his past. This was the one thing Steve was not sure would return to Bucky.

This thing was a product of a lifetime spent together, of a friendship built from childhood, of a force Steve had not understood then and did not understand now. This thing had never truly been discussed by the two friends, and Steve was not sure if he ever wanted it to be discussed, because this thing was a cancer. It grew and festered and took over every aspect of the life they had lived all those years ago, it didn't matter that they ignored it, it grew all the same.

This thing had terrified Steve back then and it terrified him now. He did not know if Bucky's amnesia had eradicated his cancer, but Steve's was alive and had been lying dormant until the day he saw Bucky once more, so the last thing Steve wanted to do was bring up the subject of the cancer if Bucky was unaware that it had ever existed.

Steve knew that if he spoke of it, much less instigated it, and Bucky had no knowledge of the thing, that any hope of rebuilding their friendship would be eradicated along with whatever dignity and happiness Steve had left.

And, as Steve lay on his couch, different scenarios playing in his mind, he could not help but to think back on the one time they had ever acknowledged the thing:

_Steve and Bucky got ready in silence, each engrossed in the different buckles and buttons on their uniforms that required incessant amounts of fixing and tightening before they were fit to head out to the field. _

_The day had not been significant, there had been no noteworthy events, nor did the mission waiting for them seem much more difficult than the last, but somehow, the two friends knew something was off. There was a heaviness in the air and it seemed to weigh on their shoulders alone, making time move slow and their movements slower, which most likely accounted for the fact that the pair soon found themselves to be the only ones remaining in the base locker room._

_Being alone together was not a new occurrence. Being childhood friends had left them with many times consisting of just the two of them, but never had it felt quite like this. Never had Steve felt such a foreboding as he did in that moment, and it was this feeling that Steve would later blame for the words that left his mouth._

_"__Bucky… there is something I've been meaning to talk to you about," Steve said quietly, turning to face his friend, but unable to meet his gaze, "I don't know what it is exactly… I can't explain it… and I have no idea of knowing whether or not you'll know what I'm talking about… but, see, the thing is I-"_

_"__Stop," Bucky interrupted, placing a firm hand on Steve's hunched shoulders, prompting the soldier to look up into his friend's eyes with some mix of dread and shame, "you don't have to… you don't have to say it."_

_"__But, you don't understand," Steve pleaded. Now that he had started, he was determined to finish, determined to finally get the awful weight off his chest._

_"__Shut up for a minute, will ya?" Bucky smiled shyly, sheepishly, "I do understand. You don't think I do, but I do. I know what you're feeling and… me too."_

_Steve's breath caught, but he was determined and forced his words passed the lump in his throat, "can't you just let me say it? Just so I know that we really are talking about the same thing?"_

_"__No," Bucky shook his head, and Steve's heart dropped a little, but felt it rise slightly as Bucky added, "no, because… I'm scared… I've been scared… this thing… as stupid as it sounds, this thing scares me so much more than any goddamn Nazi bastard ever could… I'm scared of what it means… So, for now, let's leave it at this and… when we get back… we'll figure this out… okay?"_

_"__But, Bucky, I-"_

_"__Hey, hurry up in there!" a voice interrupted from the entrance of the room, "we've got to get going soon!"_

_"__We're coming," Bucky replied, then waited until the sound of the intruder's boots faded away and they were alone once more, "look, we've got to go. We'll figure all this out when we get back, so, until then-"_

_"__But, Bucky I-"_

_"__Stop," Bucky said, his voice firm, "I said we'll figure it out when we get back, so, until then, just be happy with this, okay?"_

_And, before Steve had time to reply, Bucky leaned up and planted a shy, gentle kiss on his cheek. _

_"__Come on then," Bucky said, the blush burning across his face betraying his stern tone, "you goddamn punk."_

_"__F-fine, j-jerk," Steve stammered, heat radiating from the place on his cheek where rough, chapped lips had brushed not seconds before, "but you can't chicken out!"_

_"__I know, I know," Bucky muttered, unable to keep a small smile from twitching at his lips, "I promise, we'll talk the second we get back."_

_They never came back._

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><p><strong>R&amp;R<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary:** It's been eight months since Bucky left Steve laying on the beach. How will he react when he comes home one night with his door ajar and a familiar face waiting for him in his living room?

**Warning:** This is a Steve x Bucky fic. Don't like, don't read.

**(Author's Note): **I wrote this for a friend last year after we went and saw The Winter Soldier. Thanks, Morgan, for encouraging me to write this and thank you being my friend even when it probably would've been easier not to be! I love you, you beautiful ginger creature!

* * *

><p>Steve awoke the next morning and, for a moment, couldn't remember why he was on the couch or how he had managed to sleep through the night. It wasn't until he caught a glimpse of the overcoat hung on the back of a chair that he remembered who was sleeping in his bed not two rooms away.<p>

As far as Steve could tell, his surprise house guest had not yet awoken, and he was glad for it, mostly because he had not yet thought of how to interact with his old friend, but also because a plan of the more innocent sorts came to him when he remembered that he had done his grocery shopping the day before.

So, happy for the distraction, Steve pushed his other, more worrying, thoughts aside, and set to work with a small smile on his face.

Nearly an hour later, his guest still not yet emerged, Steve found himself standing in the doorway of his own bedroom, his plan coming to a shuttering halt at what met him inside the room.

No training, no wisdom, no inordinate amount of time could have prepared Steve for the heart stopping, earth shattering, breathtaking sight of Bucky sleeping on his bed.

He was not beautiful or delicate, he was not a sleeping damsel from some fairy tale. The figure laying on the bed was not all willowy limbs and slender hips and flowing, tidy locks of hair. He emitted no grace or elegance.

He was solid in his build and disheveled in appearance. He was not perfect in the general sense of the word, with long limbs tangled in the blankets and spread oddly across the bed, thick muscles rippling with every movement, metal prosthetic clashing strangely among the alabaster flesh and sea of fabric, dark untidy hair spread out against the white pillows, and his features, while marginally more relaxed and peaceful than during consciousness, still held a grim quality that hinted at the lifetime of suffering their owner had lived.

All the confidence and cheerfulness Steve had felt only moments ago disappeared as, once his heart rate had finally returned to normal, he found himself utterly incapable of entering the room.

Steve's mind was racing with every possible scenario he could think of, leaving all other body functions, such as movement and breathing, out of the question. He had no idea what he had planned to do after that point. He had no idea what to say or how to act once his guest was awake and was not confident in himself not to give away the darker thoughts lurking in his mind.

He was growing increasingly uncomfortable as he stood, tray held delicately in his hands, eyes unfocused and aimed at the foot of the bed, and teeth worrying at his lower lip as he thought. For a moment, he considered turning around and pretending none of it had ever happened, but there was a movement from inside the room that caught his eye and cleared his mind enough for his eyes to refocus.

"How long are you planning on standing there in the doorway?" Bucky smirked, looking at Steve with a drowsy, sleep drunk gaze.

"Thought I would wait until you decided to rejoin the land of the living," Steve smirked back, trying to hide the sick nervousness that was twisting violently in his stomach.

"Well, here I am," Bucky chuckled, "what've you got there?"

Steve blushed as he remembered the tray in his hands, he looked down at it and felt a bit of shame at his plan. It was too intimate, too suggestive, but it was done and he couldn't back down now, "I figured you'd be hungry. You, um, always used to like it when I cooked."

If Bucky caught on to the true nature of Steve's sheepishness, he was generous enough not to acknowledge it, instead smiling warmly and propping himself up on his elbows, "well, by the smell of it, I would say it was for good reasons."

Steve couldn't help but to smile despite the blush burning across his cheeks, "you better be glad I went grocery shopping yesterday, it's just me here so usually the food is few and far between."

"Just you?" Bucky's eyebrow rose, "come on, don't tell me there isn't _somebody_."

Without thinking it through, Steve answered, "Well… I mean… There is one person, I suppose, but…" mortified, he avoided eye contact with the man on the bed as he stepped forward to offer the tray, knowing that he had no choice but to continue speaking now, "but… that was a long time ago and, who's to say they feel the same anymore."

"I wouldn't cut yourself so short," Bucky scolded as he sat up to accept the tray, "no harm in giving it a shot, right?" he smiled up at Steve, his mouth stuffed with egg and sausage, "You're goddamn Captain America, there probably isn't a person in their right mind that would turn you down."

Steve bowed his face away from Bucky, trying vainly to hide the blush that seemed intent on engulfing the entirety of his face.

"So, who's the lucky girl?" Bucky asked, his gaze dropping down to his plate.

"N-no one," Steve didn't want to admit that his heart sunk a little at Bucky's assumption, "it doesn't matter," Steve frowned, staring down at the nightstand, "it's not worth mentioning. They've probably forgotten about it anyway."

"You don't know unless you try," Bucky said thoughtfully through a mouthful of pancakes, "the worst they can say is no."

"No," Steve shook his head, finally gathering up the courage to look up into the face of his old friend, "The worst they can say is goodbye."

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><p><strong>R&amp;R<strong>


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary:** It's been eight months since Bucky left Steve laying on the beach. How will he react when he comes home one night with his door ajar and a familiar face waiting for him in his living room?

**Warning:** This is a Steve x Bucky fic. Don't like, don't read.

**(Author's Note): **I wrote this for a friend last year after we went and saw The Winter Soldier. Thanks, Morgan, for encouraging me to write this and thank you being my friend even when it probably would've been easier not to be! I love you, you beautiful ginger creature!

* * *

><p>They were both silent for a while after that, each lost in thought, the only movement Bucky moving closer to the center on the bed and Steve obeying when he understood it to be a request.<p>

"Where'd you learn to cook anyway?" Bucky asked quietly, hesitant to break the silence.

"Just learned how to, I guess," Steve answered, his head tilted back as he stared at the ceiling, "my father died when I was a child and my mother just as I was finishing school. So it was just me and you for a while, and since you were too stubborn to try, I had to learn for the both of us, otherwise we would've starved."

"Well, you make a lovely housewife, if I do say so myself," Bucky snickered, earning a punch to the arm that only made him laugh harder.

"Yeah, well," Steve chuckled, feeling decidedly lighter watching Bucky laugh again, "I kept us alive, didn't I?"

"Yes," Bucky laughed, "I suppose you did, didn't you? Though, I don't think you meant to keep us alive quite this long."

"No, I don't suppose I did," Steve looked at Bucky over his shoulder, "shame though, I would've preferred it to have been my cooking than…"

"Yeah," Bucky breathed, "me too."

Steve was tempted to let them slip into silence again, but he wanted to hear Bucky's voice and there were questions he still needed answering.

"So what now?"

"I… don't know, to be perfectly honest. My whole strategy was to show up, and I didn't really plan any further than that," Bucky shrugged, pushing around bits of burnt toast on his plate with his fork.

"You can stay here if you like," Steve blushed, glad that the other man was looking away.

"At least until you work up the courage to pursue your mystery girl," Bucky smirked.

Steve missed the hint of pain in his voice as he spoke.

"There's no mystery girl," Steve smiled bitterly, wishing that there was.

Then, for a while, there was silence.

Neither could bring themselves to look up at the other, but if they had, the universe would've thanked them for it.

Steve was frowning, staring down at the floor and ringing his hands in a desperate, eternally uncomfortable sort of way.

Bucky too was frowning, but it was not anxiety on his face so much as a hurt Steve would've recognized in an instant if only he had the strength to look up.

But they didn't look up, and they didn't speak, and this silence, unlike the others before it, was heavy, and obviously so.

Steve was becoming hypersensitive to his surroundings and the more uncomfortable he became the more his blankets itched his hands and the skin of his legs not covered by the boxer shorts he had slept in the night before, the bed seemed firmer than usual, denying him any comfort no matter how many times he shifted his weight, the air grew thick and stuck in his throat with every breath, and the heat, the goddamn heat radiating off of Bucky's leg left Steve burning every time it brushed casually against the small of his back.

Steve was fighting desperately not to turn to look at his friend, because, if he did, he knew that he would be unable to combat the desire to wrap his arms around him. If he looked into those eyes he loved and had never expected to see again, Steve knew that he would give away every emotion he was fighting to repress. A part of him wanted to give in, to find out, but there was another, bigger part that was still reluctant to begin this thing he had been told his whole life was wrong and, moreover, was worried that Bucky wouldn't want to start anything at all.

"Is it Peggy?" Bucky asked suddenly, but so quietly that Steve almost thought he had imagined it.

"Why would you think that?"

"It makes sense," Bucky continued, but his voice remained a soft whisper, "I read up on her at the museum, and I do have vague memories of the two of you… she has Alzheimer's now… right? So, every time you go to see her, she's forgotten that you're back… I suppose that must be hard for you… to have to go there and remind her every time… I get why you are hesitant to express any of those feelings… but, you know, in truth, I thought you were being much more cryptic earlier when you said they probably forgot, but I guess you were being literal."

"It's…" Steve's mouth was dry and every breath got caught in his throat, "it's not Peggy?"

Bucky's head shot up and he stared at Steve with wide, surprised eyes, "Who else could it be, then?" Bucky asked, his voice no longer a whisper, "There's no one else left from back then, no one who you could've been with long enough ago that they would've had time to forget… There's no one left except for you, Peggy, and… me."

"Just forget about it," Steve said quietly, his courage dissolving, "I told you, there's no mystery girl."

"Steve, what are you not telling me?" Bucky asked, his voice uncertain and small.

"Nothing, I told you to forget it," Steve said, standing from the bed and making his way to the door.

"I've forgotten too many things!" Bucky yelled after him, working frantically to untangle himself from the blankets and go after the soldier, "I don't want to forget anymore!"

"Bucky," Steve sighed, pausing in the doorway, keeping his back to the man inside the room, "some things are best forgotten."

"Steve," Bucky called as he finally got himself free and his feet hit the floor, "wait will you? Just wait for a minute!"

"I have waited. I waited in that ice for seventy years, I waited all the years since then, and when I finally thought I could stop waiting… I had to wait eight months more."

To Bucky, Steve seemed stiff in that doorway, his arms pressed against his sides, his shoulders drawn and stiff, his head bowed against his chest as he spoke with forced calm.

"Steve, I…" Bucky breathed as he reached the other soldier, only to see that he was far from calm.

Steve was shaking. His shoulders were drawn high to conceal their trembling, this hands were clenched so tightly his knuckles were white, and, when Bucky looked hesitantly around to look at his face, he saw that his eyes were shut tight and his teeth were clenched against silent cries.

Bucky didn't want to believe that those were tears he saw collecting in the corners of Steve's eyes.

"Steve…" Bucky breathed shakily.

"I…" Steve's voice broke as he tried to maintain his composure, "I thought you were dead… I watched you fall that day… I couldn't save you and I had to go back alone… they wouldn't let me go search for your body… they made me leave you… my best friend, my oldest friend, my brother, my…" Steve's voice died and was replaced by muffled sobs as his tears broke free and burned their way down his cheeks.

"Your… your what?" Bucky pleaded, grabbing Steve by the shoulders and forcing him to face him, "what were we? What was I to you?"

Steve didn't answer. He couldn't answer. He didn't know how to. What had they been? Had they ever _truly_ been anything more than what everyone else saw?

"Steve!" Bucky yelled, shaking the trembling soldier desperately, "What were we?"

"I don't know!" Steve yelled back, his voice heavy with tears, "I… I don't know…"

"Then…" Bucky's voice was wavering as he stared up into the face of the man he knew everything and nothing about, "what… what is this all about?"

"I don't know," Steve repeated, his eyes still shut tight, "we… might have been… something… but… I don't know…"

"Something?" Bucky whispered, "What do you mean by something?"

"Just… something," Steve said pathetically, trying unsuccessfully to turn away.

"Don't bull shit me here, Steve," Bucky pleaded as he took in a deep breath and lifted both his hands to either side of Steve's face, forcing him to face him, "if we might have been… something… how do you not know? How do you not know whether or not we were ever something?"

"Because…" Steve opened his eyes, "the only time we ever talked about it… tried to talk about it… you…" Steve's voice broke as a fresh set of tears fell from his reddened eyes.

"What happened?" Bucky asked, his heart breaking at the sight of the man before him.

"You… you promised!" Steve voice broke again, "you promised we'd talk when we got back… you promised… and then…"

"I never came back…" Bucky finished, and, with his new understanding, the memory came flooding back to him.

_"__Bucky… there is something I've been meaning to talk to you about," Steve said, making Bucky's heart rate quicken, just like it did every time he heard the other soldier's voice, "I don't know what it is exactly… I can't explain it… and I have no idea of knowing whether or not you'll know what I'm talking about… but, see, the thing is I-"_

_"__Stop."_

_He couldn't breathe. _

_Bucky stared into those blue eyes, and he knew exactly what he was talking about. He had never in his life dreamed that Steve would feel how he did, but, looking into the eyes he knew so well and seeing all the nervous uncertainty he felt every time he thought about confessing to his friend, he knew that it was true. _

_"__You don't have to… you don't have to say it." _

_He knew exactly what Steve was feeling, which was why he couldn't let him utter those words aloud, not right then._

_ "__But, you don't understand," Steve pleaded. _

_Bucky would've laughed if the hurt look on Steve's face wasn't breaking his heart._

_"__Shut up for a minute, will ya?" he smiled shyly, sheepishly, "I do understand. You don't think I do, but I do. I know what you're feeling and… me too."_

_The way Steve's face lit up was enough to send Bucky's heart racing, "can't you just let me say it? Just so I know that we really are talking about the same thing?"_

_"__No," Bucky shook his head, wishing will all his heart that he could let him say it, "no, because… I'm scared… I've been scared… this thing… as stupid as it sounds, this thing scares me so much more than any goddamn Nazi bastard ever could… I'm scared of what it means… So, for now, let's leave it at this and… when we get back… we'll figure this out… okay?"_

_"__But, Bucky, I-"_

_"__Hey, hurry up in there!" a voice interrupted from the entrance of the room, "we've got to get going soon!"_

_"__We're coming," Bucky replied, then waited until the sound of the intruder's boots faded away and they were alone once more, "look, we've got to go. We'll figure all this out when we get back, so, until then-"_

_"__But, Bucky I-"_

_"__Stop," Bucky said, his voice firm, "I said we'll figure it out when we get back, so, until then, just be happy with this, okay?"_

_Before he gave himself time to think, Bucky leaned up and planted a shy, gentle kiss on Steve's cheek. _

_"__Come on then," Bucky said, the blush burning across his face betraying his stern tone, "you goddamn punk."_

_"__F-fine, j-jerk," Steve stammered, making Bucky's knees weak and his face burn even hotter, "but you can't chicken out!"_

_"__I know, I know," Bucky muttered, unable to keep a small smile from twitching at his lips, "I promise, we'll talk the second we get back."_

_The moment they stepped onto the train later that day, Bucky regretted his decision. He wished that he could go back, just so he could get a chance to hear the words he had waited so many years to hear, but he knew why he hadn't let him. _

_Bucky knew that if he had let Steve say those words, every ounce of fight would've drained from him. If he had let Steve say it, he wouldn't have a reason to fight anymore. He would never feel the need to fight for his country again, because his one and only priority would have been to protect Steve. _

_Never again would he be able to leave Steve's side for fear of losing him, and that is an impossible goal for a soldier. _

_But, no matter how reasonable his decision, Bucky regretted not letting Steve tell him. Because, as he fell, as he stared into the face of the friend who meant so much more to him than that, as he thought he was going to die, he wished with all his heart that he had let Steve tell him the words he had whispered in the second before he had hit the ground:_

_"__I love you."_

* * *

><p><strong>R&amp;R<strong>


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